


Overcomer

by ShanaRHager



Category: Luigi's Mansion (Video Games), Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Love, Character Study, Gen, Guilt, Hope, One Shot, Strength, Survivor - Freeform, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaRHager/pseuds/ShanaRHager
Summary: Super Mario had been rendered helpless three times, but that didn't make him any less of a hero.  A story about strength, optimism and surviving.  Rated T for language, brief disturbing imagery and implied sexual assault.
Relationships: Mario/Peach Toadstool
Kudos: 34





	Overcomer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writer_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Writer_Sky).



_Helplessness—the inability to defend oneself or to act effectively._

And for a man like him, the concept of helplessness was quite—alien. He never thought he’d feel helpless, since he was the one doing the helping, championing the helpless and defending the defenseless. He was a hero, and he took on two antagonists larger and stronger than him just to do what’s right. So, wearing the mantle of helplessness was a poor fit for him.

He’d felt gripping helplessness three times, three instances he wished he could forget, but he couldn’t. For once, the all-around, easygoing hero was in a situation where he couldn’t get himself out. He was in the clutches of someone so hateful and so evil that Hell itself would probably spit him back out. He was in danger, and he’d been in danger countless times before, but on these three occasions, all of his attempts to fight his way out had failed.

For years, he’d protected a fantasyland, and now, he couldn’t protect himself.

**…**

The first time, his imprisonment had been torture. Physical, emotional, psychological. Close to two decades later, he still feels the pain, the panic, the frustration. His attackers had beaten him down before trapping him, and then their leader had dreamed up countless other ways to torment him. Leering at him and cackling as he beat on the walls of his prison and screamed at the top of his lungs. The thought of being condemned to spend a million lifetimes on this monster’s wall for him and his minions to ogle at.

But worst of all—

Worst of all—

Was the fact that a loved one he’d sworn to protect was also in peril, and for once in his life, he couldn’t help him.

His little brother.

The trap had been intended for them both.

Before the impossible occurred, all Mario could think was that he’d failed. Failed as a hero, failed as a brother. He’d been so quick to rush into things that he hadn’t taken a second glance—and now look where he’d ended up.

_It’s all your fault_ , he’d thought to himself before the pleasant surprise. _Your fault you’re in this painting, your fault that the MK is now vulnerable—your fault that Luigi is wandering through this haunted illusion, lost and scared and—and—what is_ wrong _with you?!_

When he wasn’t tormenting him, torturing him or licking the canvas of his artistic prison, the sadistic King had described, in sickening detail, what he’d planned to do to Luigi one he’d caught up to him, rubbing in the fact that Mario couldn’t save him. When they were young, Mario had fought to keep the bullies off of Luigi’s back, given him advice and cheered him up when he was sad. But when he’d needed him the most—Mario had let him down. At least—that was what he’d thought at the time.

So imagine Mario’s relieved shock when Luigi arrived at the Secret Altar, a red vacuum thingy on his back, beaten but by no means broken, and most importantly, still alive. He’d been a bundle of nerves, and who could blame him? He had an almost paralyzing fear of ghosts! But no fear would keep him away from his big bro, as Luigi had passionately told him after the battle was won.

Oh, yes—the battle. Mario could see everything—the power of his brotherly love enabling him to see through the succeeding nightmarish illusions. His captor, controlling the mech in the likeness of his archrival, breathing fire, slashing with his claws, punching, swiping, swatting. Throwing Luigi all over the arena and smashing him against hard objects. The King had done his best to unnerve him further, but Luigi just stood back up and _kept on fighting_.

And the sight of Luigi fighting so fiercely for him had given Mario strength. He’d spoken to him through their bond, telling him to throw those spiked balls at the mech’s head and expose the King. He’d cheered him on more fervently than when he’d tried out for numerous sports teams. His voice had become soothing and calm toward the end as he’d told Luigi that he could do it, to hold on—that he believed in him…

And Luigi had done it.

He’d stood up to the ghosts that had once spooked him. And not just any ghosts—Boos! And their f—ing _King_ , to boot!

Mario didn’t remember anything much after that, except the sound of voices, being zapped and tossed around, being unceremoniously dumped into some sort of lab—and then being in Luigi’s arms.

His arms—his soft, comforting, green-sleeved arms—

Safe.

He was safe.

He had been helpless, but he’d been rescued—just like he’d rescued others.

Mario had just clung to Luigi. And he didn’t let go for a long time.

**…**

He was back to being the strong one.

He had no choice. Luigi had faced his deepest fears for him. And once the adrenaline was gone—there came the nightmares.

Sweating and whimpering in his sleep. Screaming awake. Sobbing. And Mario was there to reassure him that he was still here and that rescue had been on time. Luigi would smile shakily in response before leaning into his elder twin, drinking in his security—and Mario would hold him and sing him a lullaby their _mamma_ used to sing to them when they were _bambini_.

He needed to be strong.

But it was so hard!

Luigi wasn’t the only one dealing with nightmares. Mario suffered from them, too, and they were worse. Namely, scenarios of watching Luigi die in front of him, his rescue attempt in vain. Or of the King putting _him_ in a picture frame, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with him. Or the memories of what he’d been subjected to as the King’s captive, the memories of the hero being helpless, with zero chance of rescue—until Luigi bravely showed up and boosted those chances significantly.

On second thought, Mario didn’t know whose nightmares were worse.

Patiently, he coaxed Luigi into talking about it, and he admitted that his nightmares were “what ifs”. What if he hadn’t been quick enough? What if his courage had failed him? What if certain events hadn’t happened—the eccentric professor arriving on the scene, arming him with the vacuum, etc.? What if? What if? Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif?

What if?

Two of the scariest words in the English language.

It was so easy to fall into a sea of “what if” and drown. But what kept them both afloat was the truth of what really transpired. The eccentric professor _had_ shown up and armed him. Luigi _had_ been quick enough. His courage _hadn’t_ failed him, and he’d battled through pain and doubt to get Mario out of danger, putting his health and well-being before his own. The nightmare was over, and this was where the healing began.

They found comfort and healing—with each other.

And still, Mario pushed himself to be the strong one, telling himself that he could handle it. He could convince others, but never himself.

Because he felt his own doubt.

And guilt.

Guilt for getting Luigi into this in the first place—falling for that trick.

_What kind of brother am I?_

_He can’t sleep nowadays because of me._

_He’ll probably require therapy because of me._

_He went through that Hell because of me._

_Because of me._

_Because of me—_

He swallowed it all back—the guilt, the doubt, the trauma, the flashbacks—until he finally couldn’t take it anymore. An acute panic attack had sent him to the hospital, and he’d always remember Luigi at his bedside, worried anger in his voice, demanding why he didn’t talk to him about this. And Mario just—broke. Told him everything. And when Mario broke, Luigi broke.

They cried and cried and cried in each other’s arms. Shortly after Mario was released with a clean bill of health, they sought professional help to deal with the emotional wounds they’d sustained.

The flashbacks and guilt lessened with each weekly visit.

For twelve years, life was good.

And then it happened again.

**…**

This time—he couldn’t move. Or scream.

He was paraded around in a sack. Like a prize.

He was fondled. Manhandled. Like a plaything.

And he wasn’t the only target. After breaking out of his prison, the King decided to make the entire universe his playground, executing an elaborate scheme to bring Luigi right to him.

The King threatened to undo twelve years’ worth of progress, threatened to bring back the memories. Threatened to bring back the sense of helplessness. But once again, Mario tried to stay the strong one.

He was able to envision Luigi, a brand-new vacuum on his back, searching the valley for him. There was the ambush in a train exhibit, the drama with that paranormal portal, and while Mario was physically immobile, there were no restraints on his mind. So, with his mind, he communicated with his baby bro and became his lifeline during his second confrontation with the reviled King.

It was only after he was freed from the portrait’s confines that he allowed his tears to fall.

As it turned out, not much progress was undone. The second time wasn’t so bad, since Mario now knew that Luigi had the skills to deal with the King and his minions. He also knew that he could always count on Luigi. Fear or no fear—Luigi would never let anyone harm his bro on his watch. While bullies tormented him at school, he’d never let them bully Mario. He was quick to defend him from them, winding up in detention on at least several occasions.

Luigi was shy and conscious, but he was oh so strong.

Now, their therapy appointments were bi-weekly, and six years later, were monthly. Mario was feeling pretty good, and he knew that Luigi was feeling good, too. His latest paranormal encounter had earned him a cute little ghost puppy he enjoyed doting on. But I digress.

However, in late October 2019, a familiar acquaintance came knocking on the man in red’s door…

**…**

His first two encounters with helplessness were nothing compared to his latest run-in.

Because not only was _he_ helpless, he was also helpless to save the woman he loved.

He should’ve known the hotel getaway was too good to be true. Instead, he’d taken the bait, and now a grand total of five people were in peril, with Luigi unaccounted for. Mario didn’t even know whether or not Luigi had escaped—at first.

But now, the King had help from the hotel’s proprietor, Hellen. She’d given off a creepy vibe when she’d introduced herself to her guests, but he never would’ve thought that she’d help _him_ escape.

They’d made a point of going after _him_ first, so that he wouldn’t swoop in to save his beloved. And before they’d shoved him into the painting, the King had let Hellen—have a little _fun_ with him. He’d been at her mercy for thirty minutes, and before the King threw the portrait frame on him, he’d strongly implied that they’d do something similar with his significant other, as well.

How did he know that Luigi had managed to evade capture? He had no way of figuring that out—but he just _knew_. And he knew that help was on the way—he just had to hold on. Hold on. Hold on while Luigi fought his way up the haunted hotel.

And as Luigi ascended, Hellen and the King practically lost their minds, the latter giving a lascivious grin as he took the Princess’s portrait and departed the penthouse where Mario was being held. During the suspenseful wait, Hellen had spoken to Mario in a syrupy voice about how she and the King would end Luigi, even if they had to burn the hotel to the ground to do so. And the mort sickening thing? Speaking about it had visibly aroused her!

He’d never forget the smell of Hellen’s perfume for as long as he lived. Nor would he forget her hands all over him, before and after he was sealed in a painting. People never forgot things like that.

Hellen had become a seething madwoman by the time Luigi marched into the penthouse, but Mario ignored her in favor of the steely look on the latter’s face. Then, he saw the green blob in his likeness, standing next to him. Who was that? He was quickly assured that this green blob was an ally, but he wouldn’t properly make the blob’s acquaintance until much later.

Mario had watched the fight between Luigi and Hellen—his eyes only on the former. Hellen was nothing to him now—nothing—a mere piece of dead skin he could just pick off and flick away. Luigi was here, and this rhymes-with-witch was cooked.

As was the King.

He couldn’t contain himself when he was freed, springing right into Luigi’s arms. And Luigi heartily hugged him right back, whispering to him that he was okay, he was safe, and the three Toad retainers were waiting for him along with the Professor—

Wait. The Professor was there, too?

The bros separated, Luigi offering to escort Mario to the security of the Professor’s portable lab. But that wasn’t an option—the woman he loved was in that madman’s clutches. He had to help her!

The King had made him feel helpless for the last time!

Together, the Bros ascended to the hotel’s roof, and there she was, trapped in a frame. Mario fell to his knees at the sight of her, sobbing and apologizing. He’d saved her for 34 years, but he couldn’t save her now. And to think he’d wanted to _marry_ her two years prior to this!

When it came to people stuck in portraits, Mario was powerless.

But Luigi knew just what to do.

The man in green coaxed his brother away before freeing his unofficial sister-in-law. The three of them had hugged wildly.

And then—everything went to Hell.

**…**

The power-mad King had committed a last, desperate act. Luring all of his targets onto the roof so he could throw an even larger portrait frame atop them. In the aftermath, Mario couldn’t stop thanking God for that ghost puppy intervening when he did, giving Luigi a fighting chance to end this once and for all.

It was the grand finale—and what a grand finale it was! The King had enlarged the portrait and sent it descending toward the hotel, seeking to trap every living creature on this earth in a huge painting. He’d pulled every last trick in the book in the ensuing brutal fight against Luigi, from throwing fireballs to splitting himself into copies. And Mario did nothing but pray for his little bro as he watched him and his green clone slam the King this way and that, his fellow captives praying along with him. Luigi had taken a Hell of a lot a punishment during this go-round, but he still emerged 3-0 with the psychotic King with precious seconds to spare.

He had survived.

They all had survived.

**…**

Three times, he’d felt helpless. Three times, Luigi had come through when all hope seemed to be lost. Three times, the King had made him nearly doubt his abilities as a hero, only for Luigi’s actions to put those doubts to rest.

Mario may have been helpless when he was in that portrait, but he certainly wasn’t _hopeless_. He’d always had a glass-half-full outlook on life, and those three incidents weren’t any different. Somehow, he knew that his bro would beat the odds and save him. He knew that Luigi would never turn back, never surrender, never bow or break. An inner strength lay deep within that shy, cautious exterior, and Mario had first glimpsed it on that cold night almost 19 years ago.

It was true that he’d landed in an inescapable situation. But it did nothing to hinder his abilities as a hero. And there were times when heroes needed saving, too. There was certainly nothing wrong with _that_.

Despite the King’s efforts, Mario was still standing, walking through day-to-day challenges with a skip in his step and a smile on his face. He wasn’t a paranoid, broken-down wreck. The King wouldn’t have the privilege of reducing him to that state.

He had Luigi to thank for that, of course, but he also had to thank himself. For believing in him. For loving him. For keeping him strong.

Those years of always being there for him had paid off.

Maybe this dance would never end. Maybe the King would try to escape and find ways to exact his vengeance. But Super Mario wasn’t gonna lose a wink of sleep over that.

Because one thing was absolutely certain—Mario “Jumpman” Mario was a hero. A brother. A lover. A survivor.

An overcomer.


End file.
